Mike froze for a split second then released the doorknob and took a step back into the room. "So you're saying that Stan…?" He let the rest of the question hang.
Patterson, surprised by the reaction his recollection had elicited from the two San Francisco detectives, inclined his head slightly. "That Stan doesn't have a nail on his right big toe…" he said tentatively, looking from one almost immobile cop to the other. "That means something to you, doesn't it?" His voice was soft and suddenly filled with trepidation.
With a quick glance at his partner, Mike returned to the table, tossed the fedora back on the far end and sat. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat then leaned forward, laying his forearms on the table and clasping his hands. "Mr. Patterson," he began formally, "we have reason to believe that your friend Mr. Kowalczyk may have been murdered a couple of weeks ago."
His eyes suddenly filling with tears, Patterson dropped his head. "I thought so," he whispered. Mike waited as he took a few deep, steadying breaths before slowly looking up again. "You, ah… you needed to know about his toenail before you could tell me that, didn't you?" Mike nodded. Patterson hesitated before asking, "Is that because you can't identify him?"
His features creased in sympathy, Mike nodded again. "I'm afraid so."
Patterson closed his eyes. "How did he die?"
Mike glanced at Steve as the younger man sat beside his partner again. "We, ah, we don't know yet," the younger cop said gently.
Stan Kowalczyk's best friend opened his eyes and stared at the SFPD inspector. "Why?" he almost whispered, a tremour in his voice, as if he knew the answer before he asked the question.
Steve's eyes flicked towards his partner and he saw Mike nod almost imperceptibly. He leaned forward slightly. "Because his body was dismembered…"
Patterson inhaled quickly and deeply and closed his eyes once more. He bit his bottom lip. "Oh god," he breathed quietly, dropping his head into his hands. After a few long seconds, he looked up again. "You think Jimmy Scott did it?"
Steve shrugged. "We have no idea. We haven't been able to do any real investigation yet because we didn't know whose body we had." He smiled slightly, gratefully. "And thanks to you, now we do."
"Believe me, Adam," Mike offered encouragingly, "Steve and I are going to do everything in our power to bring whoever did this to Mr. Kowalczyk to justice. You have our word." Beside him, Steve nodded.
Patterson sat there quietly for a couple of long seconds then met the older detective's eyes. "What can I do to help?"
"Well, for starters, we need to get into Stan's residence, to see if there's anything there that can tell us what happened."
Patterson's eyes widened and he glanced quickly back and forth between them. He looked suddenly revitalized. "I can do that. I can take you to his apartment."
"That's good, that's good," Mike nodded encouragingly. "And, do you know if Stan had any family that we need to contact, any next of kin?"
Patterson thought about it for a few seconds then shrugged and shook his head. "I, ah, I don't think so. I know his parents are dead… and I don't think he has any brothers or sisters, but I can't be sure. I'm sorry."
Mike smiled. "There's no need to be sorry. It's okay, we can find that stuff out." He reached for the fedora. "Listen, ah, we have to go talk to Chief Powell, tell him what's happened. Are you okay to stay here for a little bit while we do that, and then we can go to Stan's place?"
Nodding vigorously, Patterson almost smiled. "I, ah, I took the day off…"
"Good," Mike said sharply, slapping the table with his free hand as he got to his feet. "We'll be back as soon as we can."
As Steve got to the door, he turned back. "Listen, ah, can we get you anything? A sandwich, or a coffee?"
"They brought me lunch earlier, thanks… but would it be possible to get a Coke?"
"Sure. I'll get them to bring you one."
As the door closed on the two detectives, Patterson stared into space for several long seconds, then dropped his head into his hands and began to cry.
# # # # #
The Linden Apartments was a squat three-storey beige brick building near the university campus. It didn't look like the residence of a man who had come into a good deal of money, the detectives thought as the tan sedan pulled into an empty spot across the street.
From the back seat Adam Patterson pointed at the building. "Stan's apartment is the corner one up there on the third floor. Number 14."
Mike turned in the front seat. "Okay, now remember what we told you. You can come into the apartment with us but you are not to touch anything, right?"
Patterson nodded once. "Yes, sir."
"Okay." The older detective looked across the seat at his partner. "Well, let's hope Powell got in touch with the owner and he's here with a key. I'd hate to see you have to kick the door in," he chuckled as he opened the car door and got out.
As they crossed the street towards the apartment building, Steve shook his head and laughed. "Are you kidding? I'd get one of the unies to do it." He gestured at the two large Davis Police Department patrolmen who were already waiting for them at the entrance.
Luckily, the building's owner had already arrived and within minutes they were stepping across the threshold into the surprisingly large one-bedroom apartment. Taking Mike's words to heart, Patterson stood in the hallway until the four cops made sure the apartment was unoccupied then he was invited in. The two uniformed cops returned to the hallway.
"Does anything look disturbed to you… or missing maybe?" Mike asked as Patterson stood in the centre of the living room and looked around. The small apartment was sparsely furnished and there was nothing on the walls. It seemed barely lived in.
Patterson shrugged noncommittally. "He really doesn't have much so… no? It looks like I remember it." He shrugged again. "Sorry…"
"No no, don't be sorry," Mike said quickly. "You're really helping a lot. So, ah, you said Stan showed you a picture of Jimmy Scott, right? Would you, ah," he pointed vaguely around the room, "would you know where it could be? It would really be a big help to us if we knew what Scott looked like."
"Oh sure," Patterson said quickly, crossing to a small desk that was tucked into a corner of the room. He rifled through the drawers, stopping when he found a loose stack of photographs. He took them out, dropped them on the desk and began to paw through them. "It should be here somewhere…" he mumbled, seemingly to himself.
Steve sidled up beside him. "Any chance there's a better picture of Stan in that pile?"
With a quick glance over his shoulder, Patterson almost smiled. "Yeah, here." He picked up a colour print of a genial-looking, slightly overweight man wearing a chef's hat and a massive grin standing over a bar-b-que, tongs in hand. When Steve took it, he continued, "The church had picnics in Golden Gate Park once in a while… sort of like recruitment picnics. LeVay never went; it was Stan's idea and LeVay let him do it."
Glancing up from the photo, Steve asked, "Did he ever recruit anyone at these picnics?"
Patterson shook his head. "No, people just wanted the free food."
Both detectives chuckled gently. The small man went back to the stack of photos. "Ah, here it is!" he exclaimed finally, straightening up with a larger than normal print in his hand. "This is him – this is Jimmy Scott."
Mike crossed the room to look over Steve's shoulder when the younger cop took the photo from Patterson. It was a black-and-white shot of a small, almost feral-looking man with dead eyes, dressed in a black robe and standing in front of what looked like a brick fireplace and mantel. The walls of the room seemed to be painted black.
"That was taken in the Church of Satan," Patterson explained. "That's the altar."
Mike, who had put his glasses on, shot Stan Kowalczyk's best friend a bewildered glance that Steve caught. "The altar?" the older man asked. "It looks like a fireplace."
Patterson grimaced. "Yeah, it kinda is… LeVay used it as an altar."
Mike pointed at the photo. "Is that a pentagram?"
Steve glanced over his shoulder. "No, it's not, but it looks like one. See the goat's head?"
"Yeah," Patterson agreed. "It's actually called the Sigil of Baphomet. Some people that hated the church and everything it stood for used to say that LaVey designed it, but he didn't and he never said he did. It's been around for centuries… he just used it."
Steve handed the photo to his partner, who studied it a little closer before turning to their companion. "Can we keep this?" he asked.
Patterson shrugged. "I don't see why not… Stan has no use for it now, does he?" The sadness had returned to his tone and he hung his head.
Mike glanced at Steve, raising his eyebrows. The younger man nodded slightly towards the door and Mike nodded. "Listen, ah, Adam, I think we're gonna be okay here on our own, Steve and me. Why don't we get those patrolmen out there to give you a lift home, okay?"
"But my car is at the police department –" Patterson began.
"Then they can take you back there. We want to thank you for everything you've done for us today, you've helped us more than you can know."
"We're really sorry about Stan," Steve offered. "From what you told us, he seemed like a nice guy who got caught up in something he shouldn't of, right?"
Patterson nodded sadly. "I hope you catch whoever did it… and if it isn't Jimmy Scott, then whoever it is…"
"We will," Mike nodded, "don't you worry about that. We will. And if we need any more information from you, we'll call, okay. Steve has your phone number."
With a grateful nod, Patterson shook both their hands and walked towards the door.
"Hey, fellas," Mike called out and one of the officers poked his head in the doorway. "Can you give Mr. Patterson here a lift back to the station?"
"You bet, Lieutenant."
When they were alone, Mike let his eyes drift over the contents of the living room once more. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
"What? That this is not the home of a man with money?"
"Yeah… I'm starting to think that maybe our Mr. Stanley Kowalczyk was beginning to realize he had thrown his fortune away and that's why he 'excommunicated' himself from Scott's so-called church… and maybe Mr. Scott wasn't too happy about that."
Steve nodded slowly, as they both continued to log everything in the room in their mind's eyes. "I'm starting to think you're right."
Mike glanced at his watch. "Listen, ah, I don't know about you but I'd like to get home before midnight. I don't think we're gonna find much here that's gonna help us uncover who murdered our Mr. Kowalczyk, but I want to trace his bank history and find out exactly where all his money went, don't you?"
"That seems like a good place to start."
"Yeah, so let's see if we can find ourselves a chequebook or a cancelled cheque or something like that and save us the trouble of having to call all the banks in town."
"Sounds like a plan to me."
# # # # #
A little less than an hour later, with two cancelled cheques and an old passbook in their possession, the two San Francisco homicide detectives made their way down to their car, knowing that the investigation into the murder of Stanley Kowalczyk had only just begun. They would have a lot of avenues to go down and a lot of leads to explore before they could put it to bed, of that they were certain.
But now they had a name for their body, and a possible suspect. All things considered, their road trip had been very successful.
Closing the passenger side door, Mike glanced at his watch. "Listen, ah, it's almost seven. I don't know about you but I'm starved. Why don't we look for a little mom-and-pop diner somewhere between here and the highway and grab a bite to eat?"
"I like how your mind works, Lieutenant," Steve agreed with a chuckle as he stuck in the key in the ignition and started the car.
"Good. Then let's do that," Mike laughed softly, shaking his head affectionately, pleased that their day had turned out so well. He started to settle back against the seat when suddenly he shot bolt upright. "Damn it!"
Steve did a quick doubletake; Mike didn't curse very often. "What?"
The older man turned to him with a sick expression. "The turkey… I forgot about the damn turkey…"
